Getting a case of the Mondays- delivered

amazon boxes shutterstock updOne of the most common-sense ideas for saving money is this: make your own meals and take them with you. Restaurants, coffee shops, and vending machines all charge a hefty markup on food, for both the service and the convenience. These temptations are plentiful around my office, but oddly, it’s not my appetite that leads to me spending too much money there. No, I overpay for food, because my lunch is sitting on the counter at my house, getting licked by my cats and growing room-temperature bacteria.

I’ve always been this way. In elementary school, lunch forgotten, I’d walk the two blocks home and my mom would cook for me and let me watch a little TV. In college, I was perpetually broke and could usually only scrape together enough change ($1) for a Wendy’s baked potato to replace whatever food I had meant to bring along on my marathon school-work-meeting days. It was only at my first real grown-up job that lightning struck:

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What We Have Been Makes Us What We Are

Our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are. –George Eliot, Middlemarch

I carried an undeveloped roll of film with me, through moves to no less than 11 houses and apartments, for at least 12 years.

I had shot it with a cheap hand-me-down Vivitar camera, for which I had never owned the flash attachment, before I went away to college. It was the first and last time I ever used the camera. There were shots of my dogs and of my favorite haunts. As much as I was interested in photography, I was painfully aware of how little subject matter I had. No travels, no close friends, lonely solitary hobbies like reading and cross-stitch. Pocket money was stashed away in hopes of a time when things would be different, so there was no cash to spare for processing photos that might not even turn out.

As you may know, the next decade was a frantic series of attempts to change, to grow, to learn, to travel, to make friends. Money got shorter than ever as I took on massive debts to make these things happen. Somehow the roll of film was always packed in the office supply box for each move I made, across town and across country. Both of the dogs photographed on the film died.

It seemed more impossible than ever to develop this film. It would hurt too much, I told myself. And who knows if it even took in the first place?

I had a vague knowledge that film expires, turns red like the glow of a memory. Finally, two years after my last move, 6 years after my beloved American pit bull terrier died, 3 years after my last international travel (my honeymoon), it felt as though the time had arrived to see what this film would look like. In some ways I am poorer and lonelier than ever, and even less accomplished at hobbies and less mentally alert than I was at 19, but I have the strength to survive a look at anything these days. Even a portrait of the sad little self I still carry inside me.

I developed the film this past weekend. With the exception of a few frames decayed beyond recognition, I think they came out rather well.